


Loving the Darkness (Wanting the Sun)

by JustAnotherNerd1820



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast), The Infinite Noise - Lauren Shippen
Genre: F/M, Gen, No AM Archives spoilers, OC, Original Character - Freeform, Pregnancy, Shapeshifting, Tier 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherNerd1820/pseuds/JustAnotherNerd1820
Summary: Joan, Owen, and Sam are heading the AM now that Ellie’s gone off to Headquarters. It’s a few months after the end of The Bright Sessions, when one of the Tier 5 patients tells Sam that she’s pregnant.
Relationships: Adam Hayes/Caleb Michaels, Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Samantha Barnes/Mark Bryant
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for picking my fic to read. I will tell you straight up that I do not have Luminary so there is canon-divergence there. I do mention Sydney the electropath but he won’t be super important. I can’t say that it’ll be super regular updates, but I’m aiming for once every two weeks. Please feel free to offer suggestions and tips but be polite please. The first chapter is really short, so I apologize but the rest of them will be longer. Also my notes will be longer. Thanks again for reading; see you at the end!

Sam was hyperventilating. _Pregnant._ The words hit her in the chest, forcing themselves down her throat. She wasn’t even sure how this was possible. _Pregnant._

***  
Joan downed her fourth cup of coffee in the same number of hours — drinking it like booze at a bachelorette party. This couldn’t be happening.  
She was going to kill Owen.

***  
Owen paced in his office, back and forth across the tiny space. It wasn’t his fault, he knew that. But he knew they’d blame him. It was so much easier than untangling the string of lies and decisions that hadn’t really been his.


	2. Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own these characters — did I mention that? Well, I don’t. But enjoy anyway.

“So she said she’s pregnant?” A pad of legal paper quickly filling with Joan’s scribbled handwriting sat in her lap. “And she’s positive?”

“Yeah.” Sam had finally managed to calm down and come back from the fifteen hundreds. Now she's sitting in Joan’s office with Owen. “I went down to Tier 5 this morning. I was going to hand out the blankets we’d gotten. It’s so cold down there Joan.”

“We’re working on that,” interjects Owen, which earns him a sharp glare from both women. “Sorry. Sorry.” He looks back down at his lap.

“You went down to Tier 5…” prompts Joan, working the conversation back to where it needed to be.

“Yeah. I went down to Tier 5, and I was talking to some of them. I went into Darryl’s room. I’d brought him some of those horrible little crackers he’s always talking about. He thanked me. Asked me when he’d get out. I told him that we’re trying really hard.”

Sam stops talking. Her voice dropping to a whisper. “He told me that he was ready to die in there.” She glances up from her hands. “Joan, we have to do something more.”

“I know,” Joan whispers. Her pencil pauses it’s insistent scratching as she meets Sam’s eyes. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“What happened after that?” Owen can't help himself. “What happened after Darryl told you he was ready to die?”

“I left. I told him that I’d be back but I didn’t know when. And I was passing out the rest of the blankets and I went into Macy’s room. Gave her a blanket. She asked me to stay for a moment.”

***

_“Sam, I appreciate everything you and Joan are trying to do for us down here. You have to know that.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“But it’s not enough. It’s not fast enough.” Macy glanced down at her stomach. “Sam, some of them-“ she gestured to the walls around her “-some of them are so angry.”_

_“I know. I’m angry too.”_

_“They’re angry at you Sam. You and Joan and Owen. We’re all angry at Owen.”_

_“What does this have to do with our work not being fast enough?”_

_“Sam. I’m… I’m pregnant.”_

_The first thing that ran through Sam’s head was that this must be a joke. A ploy._

_If she were Joan, the first question would be how._

_If she were Owen, the first response would be disbelief._

_But she was just her. Sam._

_“You’re pregnant?” she repeated. “Pregnant.”_

_“Yes. About three months now, I think. It’s not showing yet.”_

_“I’ve got to tell Joan.”_

_“Yes. You do. But Sam… be careful… please. You can’t just release me because of the baby. They’re all so angry.”_


	3. Joan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to all ye weary travelers who have wandered across my fic. I hope you are doing well. Not much to say here aside from the fact that this is from Joan’s perspective. There’s reference to a small bit of panicking, so triggers for that, and also mention of being unable to have kids — is that a trigger? Anyway, thank you for reading, as always i love to hear your thoughts. See you in 2 weeks!

The legal pad is nearly full. Half baked ideas, science terms, and a few expletives rush across the pages.

This doesn’t seem possible.

“We have to go talk to her.”

It’s the logical next step. Joan reaches for her coffee mug, the last of the dregs tasting like what she assumes feet would taste like. She really hates coffee.

“I’ll get my coat.” Owen stands, ready to come too.

“Owen…”

“You’ll want me there, Joan. I’m a valuable asset. Player. Teammate. I’m a valuable teammate.”

“He _is_ right,” Sam mutters.

Joan knows it. She never likes being wrong. Especially not to Owen. "Come on then." She stands, grabbing the sweater draped on the back of her chair. "Sam, are you going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine, Joan."

They make their way down the stairs, avoiding the elevator. Too many questions from people who need to know nothing about what they're doing.

Joan's muttering to herself, phone recording everything from their footsteps to her barely audible words;

"We'll have to see if it was intentional. Look into hermaphroditism in plants. And see if she can do other shapeshifting. If she's stuck in this form. Oh and if so, then ask when it started. But first make sure she actually is pregnant. Don't forget that part, Joan. And-"

"We're here," Sam quietly interjects.

And indeed they are; staring down a dark, cold hallway with lines of ice running down the walls. Their breaths are visible in the pale light, and not for the first time, Joan wonders how anyone survives in this place.

Sam takes them to Macy's room, but it's not much of a room -- much closer to a cell. As Owen unlocks the door, Joan forces herself to stay focused.

_Mark's not here. Mark's safe. You're safe._

But it's hard to ignore the little voice telling her that all these people _aren't_ safe. They're stuck and they're her responsibility and she can't do anything for them.

"Joan? Are you sure you're alright?" Owen's voice breaks through the stream of consciousness.

"I'm fine. Just nervous. I've never dealt with anything like this before."

The door creaks open, and they shuffle into the room. Owen first, then Sam, and finally, Joan.

"Good morning, Macy." Owen starts, business-like, serious. Of course. The whole situation is serious.

But for some reason Joan wants to laugh -- it all seems so ridiculous.

"Good morning, Agent Green." Macy's voice is tight; controlled on a leash. Why shouldn't it be? Joan understands. She does it with him sometimes too. It's hard to forget. Harder still to forgive. Macy turns to Sam. "I see you brought your friends."

"We just want to help you," Owen says.

"Oh yes. I know." 

A high, cold laugh echoes out of Macy, and Sam flinches. Joan edges closer to her. _It's okay Sam, you're okay._ She tries to convey this through her body language, but she’s never been a people person, and Sam doesn’t seem to notice.

"You want to study me. To ask me questions. To know how the _hell_ I got pregnant sitting here in solitary confinement."

"We do have some questions we hope you can answer." Joan was slipping into "therapist-mode", relaxing her voice and mellowing out the room. "But first and foremost we _do_ want to help you."

"Then why am I stuck here instead of at an obstetrician's?"

Joan knows what Owen is going to say before he even opens his mouth. It's been drilled into his head from his years at the AM.

_It's because you're dangerous._

She cuts his thought off. "Because we don't know what to do with you, Macy. The AM has never had this sort of challenge presented before, and we don't know what might happen if you went to a modern doctor."

"I'm a problem."

Despite her carefully crafted sentences, there's always a few things that get said no matter what words are used.

"You're _not_ a problem, Macy. And we are going to help you. We're going to help all of the Atypicals down here."

"But first-" Sam reaches into her bag, handing a pregnancy test to Macy. "We'll go walk around. Give the rest of the blankets out. We'll come back in about ten minutes." She glances around, confirming her statements with Joan and Owen. "Yeah."

Joan offers a small smile. "Good luck, Macy."

Owen nods as he walks out.

The hallway is just as dark as before. Sam reaches into her bag and hands them a stack of blankets. "Just send it through the mail slot if you don't want to talk to them," she advises. "But they like visitors. A lot of them are really nice."

Nobody mentions Sydney, the electropath buzzing at the very end on the row of doors.

"Thanks Sam." Joan takes hers, setting off like she's on a great adventure. Anything to get away from the thoughts racing through her head.

***

_"Joanie, do you know what they did to me?"_

_Mark had been sleeping on the couch while Joan poured over her studies at the kitchen table. It was what she did when she couldn't sleep. Which was more often than she cared to admit._

_He'd woken from a nightmare, shaking. It took Joan twenty minutes to get him to calm down again._

_She didn’t mean to pry, didn’t want to, but she had to ask;_

_“What was it Mark?”_

_What she wanted to say was;_ who hurt you so badly?

 _What she wanted to know was;_ who do I need to protect you from?

_“Joanie, do you know what they did to me?”_

_“Only what you and Sam have told me. And Sam’s only shared information she’s checked with you about.”_

_“Do you know why we had that big fight a few months ago?”_

_He stayed at Joan’s place for a week after that until she made him go talk to Sam. She'd laughed to herself about it afterwards. Once a pair of conflict avoiding saps in love, always a pair of conflict avoiding saps in love._

_"I’m aware of some of the reasons. Little things I could gather from observing."_

_"God Joanie, always the therapist."_

_"Just less keen to be the center of attention all the time."_

_Mark hit her with a pillow._

_They're quiet for a moment, and he continues. "Joanie, I can't have kids."_

_"Mark, I-"_

_"I can't have kids, and it's the AM's fault."_

_And in that moment, she wants to hurt them so badly. The AM, Ellie, even Owen. All of them. She wants to tear them apart limb from limb while making them watch._

_An impossible wish, but an indulgent fantasy._

_"Mark." It's a hug, wrapping itself in a whisper. It's an I love you and an I'm so sorry buried beneath tears._

_"I know, Joanie. Believe me."_

_"Was that what the fight was about?"_

_"In a way. I told her, and, well, she told me that she loved me no matter what. She didn't care."_

_"That certainly sounds like Sam."_

_Mark laughed, a burst of color amidst the grey. "It does."_

_Joan waited for him to continue, letting him watch the memory drift past._

_"I told her that I still wanted them."_

_"Wanted what?"_

_"Kids."_

_"Oh."_

_Between the two of them, Mark had always been the one who wanted a big family. He would tell Joan stories of his made up children, even as he was one himself._

_"She doesn't feel the same way, Joan. She doesn't want children."_

_"I see. And this upsets you?"_

_"God, Joanie! Seriously. I want to talk to you as a sister not a therapist!"_

_"I'm sorry, Mark."_

_"No, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. But, yeah, it does upset me. I didn't even register her face because I started talking about adoption and even surrogacy, and she started flickering. I was holding her hands and then I wasn't and it just felt so weird, Joanie. And then I knew."_

_"You didn't think to ask her about this before you proposed?"_

_"It never came up! Oh come on, don't give me that face."_

_"I'm just saying, you should have talked about it."_

_"We're still getting married."_

_"I never doubted it."_

_"Yeah, well, I did."_

_Joan stroked his hand, sitting on her beat-up couch she'd had since college, avoiding the nightmares, wishing the pain away, and silently mourning all that she'd lost._


	4. Owen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen faces the necessity of leaving Joan with one of the most dangerous Atypicals he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back. Today we will be delving into Owen’s brain and whatever torturous memories I have decided to place in his past. Hurrah! I will point out that Sydney is definitely going to have a larger role than I originally anticipated (he’s an _electropathic sociopath _I wasn’t going to give that up!) not that anyone really cares, but I felt a need to rescind my earlier statement. As always, thanks for reading, and I’d love to hear your thoughts!  
>  Au revoir!__

Another blanket is slipped into a cell. There's no point in calling them rooms, Owen figures. They're not rooms, and it's not fair to call them as such.

It's not fair that anyone's in them at all.

He knows this.

Sometimes he wishes he didn't.

He stops outside Sydney's cell. The crackling can be heard even from behind three feet of cast iron and PVC. Owen sends the blanket in.

As he walks away, he swears the electricity crackles louder.

Joan's watch beeps from the opposite end of the hallway, and he hurries back to meet her and Sam. Anything to get away from Sydney.

Sam knocks, then opens the door. Macy sits on her bed, pregnancy test in hand. She stares at it, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Sam gently settles next to her, glancing at the test. “You weren’t joking,” she breathes. “Not that you would have been, but, wow. This just got a lot more real.”

Macy makes a face. “Yeah. It did, didn’t it?”

Owen glances at Joan. It’s unintentional — an instinct he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to truly rid himself of — but he locks eyes with her and knows she’s thinking the same thing he is.

“What are we going to do?” Sam directs the question towards Joan. Owen doesn’t blame her. He has no idea what to do.

“We figure out how to deliver a baby,” Joan states matter-of-factly, as if this is something she needs to learn on a daily basis. “We have some medical professionals here who might be of some assistance, so we’ll start there.”

Owen stands closest to the door. He’s itching to leave. He doesn’t like babies all that much. They’re so small. He worries what he might do to them.

“Macy, would you be okay if I asked you some questions about your ability and the pregnancy?” Joan reaches to grab her papers from Owen. Somehow they’d ended up in his hands.

“I guess.” Macy doesn’t seem convinced, which Owen deems an unencouraging sign. “Do they have to stay?”

She says they, referring to both him and Sam, but he knows it’s really just him she wants gone.

“I should be heading back up anyway,” he says. “I’m going to go talk to Harrison about the heating down here.”

“I’ve got a meeting too.” Sam stood, and gave Macy a kiss on the top of her head. “Joan’s great. You’ll love her.”

Owen stays quiet. He locks eyes with Joan, who tightens her lips and nods. _She’ll be fine,_ he tells himself. _It was ages ago, and who knows if Macy even remembers._ Even he doesn’t know everything about the experiments Ellie did. He nods back at Joan, following Sam out the door.

Still, he can’t help but remember why Macy’s in the cell in the first place.

***

_Owen had finally gotten himself to put down the study Ellie had lent him, when his phone rang from where it sat next to his bowl of reheated Chinese food leftovers._

_“Hello?” He hadn’t seen the name as he answered, but he didn't mind. He liked the surprise. He was the kind of person who liked to talk to just about anyone._

_“Owen, I need your help.”_

_“Joan! What a lovely surprise!” They’d been dating for a few months at that point, but still hadn’t quite managed to phase out of the slightly awkward phone calls and light small talk at dinner dates._

_“I need your help,” she repeated. “Please Owen.”_

_“Of course, what can I do for you?”_

_“What do I do with a dangerous Atypical?”_

_“What happened?” He pushed his noodles away, beginning to pace across the small bandwidth of his apartment._

_He'd picked the habit up from Joan._

_She stayed silent for a moment, and his brain flooded with fears — rational and irrational._

_“My parents,” she whispered. “My parents… they… they, just, can you come over?”_

_“Of course. Would you like me to stay on the phone while I drive over? I’ll put it in the passenger seat and leave it on speaker.”_

_A ragged breath was let out on the other side of the line. “Yeah. Yeah. That’d be really nice Owen.”_

_“Of course.” He grabbed his coat, locking the door as he headed out. The wind bit him as he did up his buttons and walked to his car. The quiet slipped into his brain and wormed around._

_“Owen?”_

_“Still here, Joan. I’m walking to my car now.”_

_“Okay.”_

_He started the engine, talking to Joan all the while._

_“You know, the other day, I saw an ad in the paper. It was talking about a cupcake shop that’s opening up near the office. We should go sometime.”_

_“That’d be nice Owen.” He could hear the shuddering gasps of attempted calm coursing through their conversation, passing back and forth between the two of them._

_“I’m at the front of your building. Do you want me to come in?”_

_“Yeah. Mark’s here too.”_

_“Okay. I’ll be up in just a moment.”_

_The elevator was broken, so he took the stairs. Floor six. Apartment number 612._

_He knocked, phone pressed to his ear. Joan answered, phone to hers._

_“Hello,” he said._

_“Come in, Owen.”_

_They hung up, and Owen stepped through the door._

_“Good evening, Mark.”_

_“Hi.” Mark was eagle spread on Joan’s couch, arms and legs splaying over the sides. His face was turned away from Owen. “Did you tell him yet?”_

_“I was waiting until he got here.”_

_“_ He’s _right here, you know.”_

_“Sorry, Owen.” Joan turned to him. “It’s been a long night.”_

_“What happened?”_

_A long silence. Mark broke it with a soft groan as he sat up. "Joanie, you can't just invite him over and not tell him."_

_"I'm trying, Mark!"_

_"Jesus, sorry." He lay back down._

_"Is anyone hurt?" Owen tried to remember some of the tips Joan had given him about talking to people who didn't want to talk._

_"Mark and I are mostly okay. A few cuts, a few bruises. Our parents are fine."_

_"Anyone else, Joan?"_

_She collapsed into a chair, face in her hands. "Yes," she whispered. "Their best friend. He-he's dead."_

_"Joan." He reached for her, to hug her, to hold her._

_To help her._

_She steadied herself, rising from the chair at the table. She began to pace. "He's dead. But Mark and I are fine. Our parents are fine."_

_"How'd he die?"_

_As soon as he says it, Owen knows it wouldn't have been the right question in a therapeutic setting. Of course, he wasn't there for therapy, but he saw the way Joan flinched at his bluntness._

_"He died because of her." Joan pointed toward the bedroom door. "Afterwards, I-I hit her on the Vagus nerve. Knocked her right out."_

_"Joanie insisted on bringing her home," Mark added from the couch. "I told her we should've just dropped her off at the AM right away."_

_"Yes," agreed Owen. "You should have."_

_"What would they do with her?" Joan stopped pacing, turning to Owen._

_"What are you going to do with her?" he rebutted._

_"I don't know."_

_He waits for her to say something else before he asks the thing he's been wondering since another person was brought into the conversation. "Who is she?"_

_"Her name is Macy Wang. She's a shapeshifter. A very powerful one. I didn't- I panicked, Owen."_

_"No shit, Sherlock," Mark said. He stood up. "Joanie, just let Owen take her to the AM. Please."_

_"Can I see her?" Owen asked._

_"Yeah." Joan made her way to the door. "Here." She opened it._

_Inside, a girl -- she couldn't be described as anything else -- lay, asleep on the bed. Her black hair spread across the pillows, and Owen couldn't help but to see her as a child._

_"This-this is Macy? And she murdered a fully grown adult?" he asked in quiet disbelief._

_"Yes, and yes. She can morph into animals, Owen. I've never heard of anyone like that."_

_"Wow." He bent to get a closer look, but Joan pulled him away._

_"We've got to make a decision. Fast. She'll wake up any moment."_

_"We've got to take her to the AM. Where else could she go?_

_"I know." Joan sighed. "I just thought… maybe…" She turned to Owen. "Owen, my parents… their friend." Her face quivered, and he thought maybe, just maybe, she would break. But she pulled herself together. "Let's go."_

_"You'll tell me the rest of the story on the way there?" he asked._

_"Of course." She kissed him behind the ear. "Thank you, Owen."_


	5. Joan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan has a shocking run in with an Atypical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so, I might have mentioned this before but I completely lied about the amount of involvement of Sydney in this fic. He’s definitely playing a larger part than I expected at first. Trigger for suicide mentions. I hope you enjoy it!

"Macy, I can't help you if you don't cooperate." This isn't a card Joan usually plays; she likes to have her patients see her as a partner, not a doctor or psychiatrist. Of course, she sees them as her patients so it's not necessarily a two-way street, but she's gotten by.

"I don't know, Dr. Bright. I don't know if I trust you."

It's a fair point. Some days, even Joan isn't sure she trusts herself. Most days actually. “Okay. Is there something I can do to make you trust me more?"

"I'm not sure. Tell me a little about yourself."

"I'm not sure that would be in the best interests of patient confidenti-"

"Oh please," Macy scoffs. "It's not like I've had any in the past."

"That's why I'm offering it to you now," Joan says. "I would appreciate it if you allowed me to share some parts of our session with Sam and Owen, but if you ask me not to, I will do my best to keep these, well, sessions private."

"Okay." Macy looks down at her hands. They're shaking ever so slightly.

"What would you like to know about me?" It's a gamble to open up -- it always is -- but if the exercise helps she'll try it.

"Are you married?"

Joan had been expecting this question, steeling herself for it. "Not unless you count being married to my work," she jokes.

"So no kids then?"

It's a fair question, and it should be a simple enough answer. She should say no, technically the answer is no. But Caleb and Adam and Chloe slip through her mind. Even Mark and Sam, she supposes, are hers in a way.

"No," she says. It's the easier answer. "No kids."

Mark had always been the one to want kids. To dream of a big family, but she'd always known she'd be a part of it. Stopping by on her way home from work for dinner, bringing presents for Christmas and birthdays, babysitting.

"Oh."

"I still would like to help you, Macy."

"I know. It's just hard to trust you because of… all this." She waves her hand, gesturing to the walls of her cell.

Joan wants to ask if Macy even remembers why she's there. If she remembers that Joan was the one who put her in the cell, even if it hadn't been intentional.

"I understand."

There's a pause, a shifting in the atmosphere.

"I'm ready to answer your questions now."

"Okay." Joan hesitates, then asks, "do you mind if I record this? The only person who would hear it is me, unless you allow me to share it with Sam and Owen. I prefer to take audio notes, but if you would rather I don't, I understand."

"I- yeah, it's alright."

"Thank you, Macy." Joan sets her phone on the floor, settling into the single chair next to the bed. The audio app is open, listening in to the conversation. Intruding just a little bit. She picks the phone up, holding it in one hand as she flips through her notes with the other.

"You can share it with Sam and Owen if you really want," Macy says. "If you think that'll help with this."

"I do think it will help." Joan glances up, making eye contact. "Thank you."

"What's your first question?"

"Well, I think our first order of business is to understand how you got into this predicament."

"It's not a predicament! It was intentional," Macy spits out. "Or at least, I don't mind it."

 _Interesting,_ Joan thinks. "It was intentional?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I knew something like this might happen, but I didn't expect it to. I've gone from man to woman and woman to man in here loads of times before."

"I thought they had figured out how to reinforce the walls so you couldn't shapeshift." The cogs of Joan's brain are spinning faster and faster, weaving a net to trap the solution in.

"They limit my power, sure. I can't turn into animals or anything, but I can still mess with my body. You know, hair, shape, eye color." She pauses, locks eyes with Joan. "Sex."

"I see. But you said you knew that you might end up pregnant? What do you mean by that?"

"Well, Ellie- don't look so scandalized, all of us down here knew her name and it's only fair we should get to use the familiar version. She was always very familiar with us. Anyway, Ellie told me stories about shapeshifters who got stuck in certain forms, who accidentally ended up half female half male."

"Macy…"

"Don't tell me it isn't true, because I do that for myself enough. I'd never asked about accidentally impregnating yourself, but hey, there's a first time for everything, isn't there? Now she really has some horror stories to tell. And I’ll be living proof."

Joan tries to move the conversation back to where it was. "You say you could still shapeshift, even despite their efforts to restrain your power?"

"Yes."

Theories drift through Joan’s head, although drifting is a bad word. Running would be better; sprinting even.

 _She’s just so powerful,_ is the predominant one, but there are definitely there are still others worth investigating.

“Dr. Bright?”

She comes out of her brain, blinking. “Yes, Macy?”

She’s slipping, at least in terms of therapist skills. This never would have happened before coming back to the AM.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m doing just fine, Macy. Thank you. I think we’ll continue this conversation, tomorrow?”

“Sure. It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

Joan nods, her mind drifting, wandering, running away from the situation she's placed herself in. "Have a nice day, Macy."

"You too, Dr. Bright."

She steps outside, closing the door behind her with a slight bang. It's not intentional, but the door is so heavy. She leans against the wall, practically hyperventilating. She can't do this. What made her think she could ever face Macy again?

Despite her best efforts, her personal feelings had gotten in the way of a successful therapy session. She always hated when that happened.

The smell of something burning startles her out of her emotions, and she looks around, wondering where it's coming from. The only thing she sees is slight light coming from underneath Sydney's door. _Sydney's door._

"No, no, no, no," she whispers to herself, rushing to the end of the hallway, yanking the door open to enter the observation part of the cell. Sydney's laying on the floor, a maniac smile rushing across his face. She pulls open the inner door, and runs to his side. "Sydney? Sydney are you alright?"

"Oh I'm doing just fine, Joan." His voice reminds her so much of Damien’s that she can't help but shudder. "Well, except for the fact that I am going to die."

"What makes you say that?" She's pulling out all the information she can remember about Sydney, about suicidal tendencies, about how to talk someone down from a crisis.

 _Stay calm._ She could do that. Breathe. In and out. Her chest collapsed and expanded.

"You see, Joan, I decided a long time ago that I wanted to hurt this organization for what they've done to me."

 _Remove all objects that they could use to potentially harm themself._ This would be harder. If she held his hands, would he be less likely to shock himself? It's worth a try, she supposes, and reaches out. To her surprise, Sydney takes her wrists.

"I understand why you would feel angry, Sydney."

Keep them talking. She is a therapist, at least this one is a feasible ask.

"Oh, I don't think you do, Joan. You see, my anger's gotten bigger, stronger, throughout these past years. I want to rip this building and the people in it down, brick by brick, limb by limb."

She's so scared, but forces her breathing to normalize, to stay calm.

"I realized that there wasn't much I could do, waiting here in my cell. But then an opportunity dropped into my lap. I know so much more about what goes on down here than any of you or your pesky little scientists do. Macy got herself pregnant and then wasn't it just Grand Central Station down here?"

 _Express support._ Support for what? Sure, in the context the article she'd read was writing for, those words could be interpreted as reminding the person that you're there for them, but Joan hadn't been there for Sydney in the past. What would make him think she's there for him now?

"So I waited until it was just you alone. I learned people by their footsteps, not just their voices. I heard yours coming down the stairs, heard Owen's, and Sam's. Oh, Joan, don't look so shocked. Of course I know what Sam sounds like. I waited until you were down here by yourself. Your support group gone."

 _Express support._ Support for helping Sydney electrify an entire building full of people? She wouldn't claim that they're all innocent, but they're certainly not all guilty.

"And then I burnt myself. Just a little bit." Sydney tilted his neck, revealing an already scarring patch of skin. "I knew you'd come. Our minds are similar, Joan." He brought his face closer to hers. "Curious to the point of recklessness."

 _Express concern._ Show that you think they matter. Even all the years of school and polite words drilled into her head can't make Joan think of anything to say. Panic, fear, and the need to be honest have driven much of anything away from her thoughts.

"I bet you're wondering how I can use my power. The AM has certainly done a lot of work to try and keep it in check."

 _Ask if they're considering suicide._ Hadn't Sydney already admitted to this? There's so much happening and Joan's mind is racing. But the paths it's following aren't any use to her in the moment.

"But I've gotten stronger, Joan. They told me if I repressed my power, then I'd die. So I didn't repress it. I let it grow and grow and grow and grow and grow." A maniacal shriek of laughter comes from Sydney's mouth and Joan wants to shriek with it.

"I let my anger grow too. But I realize that maybe I can't bring down the whole building. I can't bring down all the people here."

 _Ask if they're considering suicide._ Joan is barely following the conversation. She's trying to assess the dangers, the risks. The words are going in one ear, storing themselves in a box to be opened up and examined later.

"I can still bring _you_ down though."

And Joan snaps to the dialogue that's been steadily turning into a monologue over the past few minutes. "Sydney, you can't do that. You are a valued member of society."

"But I'm not, Joan. That's why I got locked up in here. You got your brother out. I heard about it. And I thought you were coming for the rest of us. A white knight in shining armor. I thought you were _good."_

_You are good, Joan._

_But shouldn't you have tried harder?_

"So now we're here." Sydney grins, teeth baring. "And I am willing to sacrifice myself if it means throwing you off of whatever steed you rode to claw yourself to the position you're in now."

"Sydney, I'm trying my best to get you out, but your previous behavior isn't making it easy."

"Behavior, shmehavior," Sydney mocks. "I don't care anymore, Joan. And you know why?"

She's so afraid to ask. "Why?"

"Because I can do this."

And he shocks her, letting the electricity pulse through his body, coursing through their veins.

Their screams mingle together; his in laughter, hers in pain.

Joan drifts out of consciousness, Sydney's face swimming in her view.

***  
_Owen turned on the engine as Joan ungracefully shoved Macy in the back of her car. "So start at the beginning. Who is she, what is she doing here, why is she unconscious, and what does she have to do with your parents?"_

_Joan gave a slight grunt as Macy slid into the backseat. She straightened her up, and buckled the seat belt. "Her name is Macy. She's a shapeshifter and also a murderer. Do you know how to get to the AM from here?"_

_"Joan," Owen said. "You have to tell me what's going on."_

_"Then I will get her into a different car. Owen, I’ll tell you, but right now we need to take action."_

_Owen obediently made his way through the empty roads. Joan stared out the side window, watching the buildings pass by._

_Macy started to stir, and Owen glanced back. "Should I be concerned?"_

_"Shit," Joan swore. "Pull over."_

_"What? Why?" Owen did as he was told though, glancing behind him to watch the drama of the backseat unfold._

_Joan stretched out two fingers and pressed them hard against Macy’s neck. With a groan, she collapsed on Joan’s lap. Joan shoved her away, and her face slammed into the window. A small trickle of blood fled from her nose._

_"What the hell, Joan?" Owen completely turned off the engine. "You better tell me what is going on or I am going to- to do something!"_

_"I had to knock her out again," Joan said, as if that statement provided clarification. "Please, just drive. I swear I'll tell you, but I don't know how many times I can do that without deciding to throw logic out the window and punch her in the face.”_

_"No. You're going to tell me what is going on. Or at least some of it. Joan, I don't want to be unable to trust you."_

_"Owen, I-"_

_"Just tell me, Joan."_

_Joan sighed. She was so tired. It had been a long night. The bare facts were all she could offer. "Her name's Macy Wang. She's linked to those murders the AM's been investigating. The ones where all the doors are locked from the inside and there are never any windows? It's her. She's the one behind it. Now, will you please drive?"_

_"You expect to drive after you just informed me that this is the deadliest person that has existed in my lifetime?" Owen asked._

_"You knew she was a killer before we stopped."_

_"Not the Bolted Bandit!"_

_Joan's eyebrows scrunched. "I'm sorry, the what?"_

_"The Bolted Bandit," repeated Owen. "I gave the killer that name because- that's not the point Joan. My point is-" he stopped._

_"Dolphins?" offered Joan, and Owen shook his head._

_"No. That's not it. My point is-"_

_He was cut off again by another small groan from Macy._

_"Owen, please, just drive. I'll explain everything, but she needs physical and psychological help that I cannot provide from the backseat of my car."_

_"Fine. But I expect a discussion about this over coffee tomorrow."_

_Joan didn't reply, but leaned over and socked Macy in the face. She was fairly certain at least one of her fingers was broken._


	6. Chapter 6: Owen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead_ is the only thought running through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Sup guys. I hope you’re all doing well. I’m rather proud of this chapter, and I hope you guys are enjoying this story. For some reason I felt a need to bring the yellow haired guy back but I really don’t know what he’s going to do later on in the story. Anyway, hope you like it!

Owen watches Sam shut the door and looks back down at the pile of papers staring through his soul. Why did he let Sam talk him into this?

It’s not that he hates reading the papers, but he certainly doesn’t enjoy it. He’d rather talk to people, see for himself what happened in the study.

He does manage to immerse himself in the notes though, and he startles when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

There’s a creaking, and Owen glances up. A man with brilliantly yellow hair stares back at him. “Hello, I’m Gavin.” He sticks out his hand, and Owen fumbles out of his chair and around the table.

“Hi, I’m Owen. I don’t mean to sound rude, but what are you doing here?”

“Of course, of course.” The man reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a folded up paper. “I was told to take these here in order for Dr. Bright to sign them.”

“Oh, yes.” They’re analysis papers that Joan signs for the therapists that the AM recommend their patients to after they’ve completed a program. “She’s out right now, and it might be a little bit. Would you like to stay? Or we can always send them to you in the mail.”

“That sounds fine.” The man hands the papers to Owen, who puts them on Joan’s desk. “Have a nice day.”

“Yes, you too.” As the man leaves, the door swings wide and a little girl is revealed, waiting in the hallway. She catches Owen’s eye, and grins at him, then grabs her father’s hand, skipping off, laughing.

He’s back at his desk, back in the piles of paper. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for.

The door opens again, but this time it’s Sam. “Got the heating fixed,” she announces.

“Excellent.” Owen hands her a sheaf of essays and lab reports. “You get to go through these.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” It’s quiet for a moment before Sam opens her mouth again. “I was joking, you know that, right?”

“I do, Sam.”

“Right, right. Yes, of course.” She flushes, but Owen just smiles.

“It’s fine, Sam.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, Sam. It was a good joke.”

“Thanks.”

They dive back in, silence broken by the insistent ticking of Joan's clock.

It’s not until it’s been a solid hour that Sam speaks up. “Should we check on Joan? It seems like she’s been down there a while.”

Owen’s been wondering the same thing, but he’s been attempting to avoid the thought. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s a competent woman.”

“Yeah.” Sam nods. “But we should probably go down to check out whether or not the heater is working, right? I mean, they said they turned it on, but who knows?”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.” They stand up, pushing their chairs in and abandoning their papers.

The door bangs shut behind them.

The elevator whirs as it lowers to the lowest floor, and Owen follows Sam down the clanging metal steps.

The smell of burning flesh hits him as soon as he opens the door to Tier 5.

Sam turns to look at him, pale, eyes wide. “I’ll be right back,” she says, an apology building in her voice. “I’m so so-“

She’s cut off by a swooshing sound, and then she’s gone.

And he’s alone. Again.

“Right then, just me,” Owen mumbles to himself as he rushes down the hallway. He stops at Macy’s cell, hurriedly unlocking it.

“Ah, Agent Green. What are you doing here?”

“Is Joan not in here?” he asks, looking around. She very clearly is not in the room, but he can’t help himself.

“No, she left twenty minutes ago.”

Owen bites the inside of his cheek, hard. The metallic taste of blood slips over his tongue. “Okay, thanks.”

“Is everything alright?”

Owen wants to say something, tell her the truth, but he can’t bring himself to. Not yet. “It’s all fine. Just misplaced her.” He gives what he hopes is a convincing laugh.

“She can take care of herself, you know,” Macy states, dryly.

“Of course, of course.” Owen laughs again. “Just need her for a meeting.”

“Are you sure everything’s alright, Agent Green?”

“Please, call me Owen.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Everything’s fine, Macy. Everything’s fine.”

“Don’t pretend for me.”

“I’ll be right back, Macy.” He pulls open the door, ignoring the hurt look on her face. Ignoring the fact that he probably is shattering any chances of repairing any bridges by shutting the door. Still… Joan.

He’s back in the hallway, calculating on autopilot. There’s something off that he can’t quite figure out. _The smell,_ he realizes, and suddenly he knows. He's racing to Sydney's cell, hoping that he's wrong.

Flinging open the door, it's not Joan he sees first, but Sydney, cackling with laughter, one hand pressed to his heart and the other to…

Joan's.

She's not breathing.

Sydney lets out another shriek, yelling barely intelligible words. "You! Owen!" He screams. "It's your fault! Owen! The AM!" One last shout, then he smiles, hand dropping off his chest as he gasps. "Goodbye," he says simply, falling limp.

Owen's frozen. The choice of who to run to seems obvious, but he can't help but wonder about the point Sydney's making.

So he goes to him. Hands to the chest, pushing hard. He can't see Joan from his position, and he knows the longer he leaves her, the less likely he'll be able to save her.

Still.

Press in. Release. Offer a breath.

_Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive. Ah, ah, ah, ah staying alive!_

Underneath his fingers, Sydney sputters to life. "Sam?" shouts Owen, hoping she'll be there to help. "Sam?"

"Yeah? Did you find her? I'm so sorry, I just got ba-" She appears in the doorway -- or at least Owen assumes she does, he's still pressing, in and out. In and out.

"Do you know CPR?"

"I'm not certified, but yeah, I know the basics." Her voice is rising, and Owen knows she's gearing to leave again.

"Don't leave! I need you here," he snaps. "Do what you can to him." He gestures to Sydney, then turns to Joan.

He tries to remember what Mayo Clinic said about electrocution. He'd read up about it when they'd first admitted Sydney.

An electrical shock may cause burns, or it may leave no visible mark on the skin. In either case, an electrical current passing through the body can cause internal damage, cardiac arrest or other injury. Under certain circumstances, even a small amount of electricity can be fatal.

Owen takes another breath, refusing to look at Joan's face, and places his hands on her chest. Press in, release, press in release.

Sydney shifts beside him, groaning. "What's going on?" he slurs. "Am I in Heaven?" When he doesn't receive an answer he asks it again, louder this time. "Am I in Heaven?"

"No, you're not." Sam's still going. "Owen do you think I can stop now?"

"Yeah, you're probably fine. Just- just hold him there or something. One second." He's desperate, pressing harder and harder. She's still not breathing.

And then.

A gasping.

A noise.

A small noise, but a noise.

Owen lets out a small sigh of relief. But it doesn't last long. Joan's breathing is irregular and short. She's shaking, even though the warmth of the room is stifling.

At least he knows they fixed the heater.

"Joan? Joan, can you hear me?" He wants to leave, to get out of there. To run away from Sydney and never have to deal with him again.

He hears a groggy voice in the background, but Owen's not paying attention. Everything he has is focused on Joan.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up. Please. For me._

Another shallow breath. And then another. Slowly her breathing evens out, and Owen's begins to match it.

"Joan," he whispers. "Oh thank God."

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Green," she manages through gasps.

"Are you okay?"

"That remains to be seen. But you can stop doing cardiopulmonary resuscitation. I'm showing signs of life."

"Of course." He reaches out his hand, and slowly pulls her up to a sitting position.

"Ah, Sam!" Joan's swaying slightly, even from where she is on the ground. "How great to see you."

"Hi, Joan." Sam turns to Owen. "They both need medical attention."

"I'm fine," Joan slurs, leaning her head on Owen's shoulder. "Absolutely, totally fine."

"You're right, Sam." Owen glances down at Joan. "I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the infirmary."

"Oh God," she mutters, but there isn't any fight in her voice.

"And Sydney?" Sam asks.

He's laying on the floor, eyes wide open, staring at the wall.

"Shit," Owen says. "Okay, you know what, Joan?"

"What?" She's nearly fallen asleep on his shoulder, and has gone rather pale.

"Sam's going to help you upstairs, okay? And then she's going to send someone down here to help with Sydney. Actually, Sam's going to send a couple people down here. That way they can keep an eye on him. I'll be right up. Promise."

"Are you sure?" Sam glances between him and Sydney. "I mean, he still could be really dangerous."

"Sam, he just hurt one of the people I love most in the world. I'm very dangerous too."

***

_They’d given Macy to the AM. Owen hadn’t asked any other questions. Just sat, driving the car, with Joan in the back periodically pressing on Macy’s neck._

_He had vaguely wondered if there was a better way of keeping her from hurting anyone, but didn’t want to make Joan more upset than she already was. Even from the front seat he could see the quiet tear tracks running down her face._

_But now they were both sitting in the car, in the AM parking lot, him holding her, pushing away all instincts to interrogate her, make her tell him what happened._

_“She’s a murderer,” Joan whispered, muffled by his shirt. “She should be locked up.”_

_“Of course,” Owen said, because what else was he supposed to do?_

_“She killed Amy. And she told me all about the other peoples she’s- she’s-“ Joan broke off, shaking in Owen’s arms._

_“Shh.” He pulled her closer._

_She pushed him away. “No I need to tell you this. I promised I would.”_

_“The world can wait for a moment.”_

_“The world waits for no one,” she replied._

_Still, she was quiet for a long moment. The streetlights cast an eerie glow and Owen wondered if Francine would be able to hold down the fort with Macy. A new room would have to be designed in Tier 5 for her, and he wasn’t sure how long they could keep her sedated for._

_Ellie will know, he reassured himself. She’ll solve it all tomorrow morning. He glanced at the clock, and found it was nearly two thirty. He corrected his earlier thought; she’d solve it all this coming morning._

_“I got her confessions on tape,” Joan said, breaking the random flickers of intelligence Owen found himself privy to. “You left your recorder in my car so I turned it on and stuck it in my pocket before I went into my parents’ house. Mark met me there.”_

_Owen didn’t interrupt, just rubbed her arm, wanting to take all the pain from her, wishing he knew how._

_“We went in together. Laying on the floor in the front room was Amy. She had bites all over her body. Next to her was a snake skin. I don’t even know what kind of snake. It was just a snake, really. I’ve never liked snakes, did you know that, Owen? Now I really don’t like them. They’re just-“ she shuddered._

_“Are you sure you’re alright, Joan?” Owen asked kindly. “We can go back into the AM. Get something to help with the shock. Set up something with a professional to help you deal with this.”_

_“I’m fine. Sorry, I just got distracted. I don’t like snakes.”_

_“Of course.” Owen didn’t know what else to say._

_“So I ran into the bedroom. That’s where the shouts were coming from. My mother. My dad. And her.” She shuddered again. “They were all shouting. She said that she killed Amy by turning into a snake. She said she’d been killing people for ages. She’d bite them and then she’d turn into a spider when the police came just to laugh at them. She gave names. They’re all on the recorder.”_

_“Joan, you don’t-“_

_“Let me, Owen. Please.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I went in. She didn’t see me. I grabbed her from behind, pressed my fingers to her neck, knocked her out. I don’t know where Mark was.”_

_Owen pulled her closer._

_“Mother was screaming. So was my dad. Somehow Mark got me out of there. Stupid brain,” she chastised herself. “Couldn’t handle all the emotion.”_

_“I don’t think it was stupid at all. I think it was a very natural reaction.”_

_Joan didn’t speak for a moment. Then she continued without answering. “He drove both of us home. Me and Macy. Gave me a glass of water. Put Macy on my bed. We said some things. I don’t know what they were. But I called you. He thought it was a good idea too.”_

_“I’m glad to see he’s beginning to like me.”_

_Joan let out a small snort of laughter. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”_

_“Thanks for filling me in.”_

_“Let’s go home.”_

_His home or hers? Owen’s considered asking if she wants to move in with him a few times, but he’s never been able to bring himself to say it._

_“Do you want to drive?” he said instead, holding out the keys._

_“Yeah. Sure.” She turned the car on, but didn’t start the ignition right away.“If you’re okay with it, you can just stay the night. I’ve got one of your suits in the closet.”_

_A small smile danced across his face. “You do?”_

_“I’m prepared, Owen. That’s my whole MO. I’ve got a whole suit_ case _just in case there’s ever a truly reckless moment in our lives.”_

_Our lives._

_“I love you, Joan.”_

_She didn’t respond for a moment, and he watched her hands tighten on the wheel._

_“I- Joan-“_

_She leans over, kissing him squarely on the lips. “I love you too,” she whispered through a tangle of orange chapstick and saliva and the breath mints Owen ate almost obsessively._

_They pull apart, and she meets his eyes. “I love you too.”_


End file.
